"I want to feel the power of you and me. I want you inside me, part of me. I want to look up and see your face surrounded by a thousand stars. I want to know that it's true-that we were supposed to be together."

"Comin' right up." Joe supported their combined weight on one arm as he lowered her back to the sleeping bag. He pushed inside her, gazing down at the woman beneath him, her pale skin glowing in the night, her eyes as bright as the brightest star in the heavens.

"I'll never leave you again, Charlotte.'

"I'm so glad."

"I want to love you."

"I want to love you back."

Charlotte smiled up at him, then felt her eyelids slide shut at the consuming pleasure, feeling Joe going deep, deeper than she'd ever allowed a man to go, deep into her secret heart, her secret passion, her secret self.

She felt the truth and opened her eyes in time to see that Joe felt it, too.

"Let me do that, Joe."

"Nope. No deal, soccer mom."

Charlotte sat at her own kitchen table feeling quite useless. She took another sip of the coffee Joe had poured for her a moment ago, watching him root around in the cabinets for the stove's griddle attachment and then hunt for plates, utensils, and ingredients stored on pantry shelves.

"Organic stone-ground whole wheat pancake mix?" Joe held up the box and frowned as he read the directions. "What's that gonna do for us, exactly?"

"It's a complex carbohydrate. More fiber and vitamins than white flour. Plus there's oat bran in it."

"I feel healthier already. How are we doing on time?"

Charlotte looked up at the kitchen clock. "I've got to get them up in about fifteen minutes. Sometimes Matt will wander down on his own, but Hank is not a morning person."

Joe turned and looked over his shoulder, his little gold earring gleaming in the overhead kitchen lights. "And her mommy?"

Charlotte smiled back, unashamed that she hadn't stopped smiling since Joe had arrived with the yogurt taco more than six hours before. "I think I'm a night person forced to be a morning person. But I'm feeling legitimately perky this morning."

Joe nodded and opened the refrigerator door. "I'm feeling pretty perky myself. You got any real milk in here or just the soy stuff?"

"Just the soy, which is real, too, just devoid of lactose, antibiotics, and growth hormones." Oh, my, but Joe looked exceptional bent over in his jeans, scanning her refrigerator shelves. He'd run home a few minutes ago to take a lightning quick shower and put on something other than his boxers, insisting that he make the kids breakfast before school. She watched him straighten and laugh as he examined the soy milk carton.

"I suppose what doesn't kill us only makes us stronger."

"Ain't that the truth," she said, laughing, too.

Charlotte watched the ripple of muscle and tendon in his forearm as he whisked the egg, oil, and milk. She smiled to herself, recalling how that muscle and tendon had felt under her hands. She recalled how glorious he'd looked hovering over her with the night sky behind him, how perfect he'd felt inside her, how she'd allowed herself to fall in love with a veritable stranger.

Who is this man I've let inside…?

She took a giant swig of coffee for fortification and said, "Who the hell are you, Joe?"

The question popped out without a bit of adornment- and she heard her words hang in the early morning quiet. He stopped whisking in midstroke, leaving the hum of the refrigerator and the pounding of her own heart the only audible sounds.

"I don't have a simple answer for that." His wrist gave a few last twirls and he set the mixing bowl aside, keeping his back to her. She watched him measure out the pancake mix and level the cup with a sweep of his finger. He was precise. Careful. He was stalling.

"Then give me the complicated version." Charlotte stood and walked to the coffeepot to refill her cup. She tipped the carafe over Joe's empty mug. "Need another shot?"

"Is the pope Catholic?" He began to stir the batter with a wooden spoon, not meeting her eye.

"Are you?"

"No, I'm not the pope."

She sniffed. "I should hope not, after last night. But are you Catholic?"

"Recovered." He continued to stir. "And you're Baptist, right?"

"Recover… ing."

That got a smile from him, and he crooked his head to let his gaze meet hers. "If the kids are coming down in fifteen minutes, I don't think I have time for any version atall."

Charlotte checked the clock. "Fourteen minutes now. Just do your best."

He chuckled, pouring out four puddles of batter onto the hot griddle.

"You know everything about me, Joe, and I know nothing about you. It's a bit uneven, don't you think?"

"It is."

"So let's hear it."

"All right, Charlotte." Joe sighed. "Both my parents are dead. My older brother died in college of a drug overdose. I got my bachelor's degree in criminal justice from American University and did two years in the U.S. Army Special Forces. I've traveled a lot for my work since. I've never been married-that was just part of my cover story. I've had a couple serious relationships, but the women always left me because I wasn't around enough to make a go of it."

"I'm sorry about your family." Her voice was soft. Then she frowned. "What do you mean by cover story?"

Joe took a deep draw of air to clear his head. He tapped the edge of the spatula against the griddle, realizing it sounded like the ticking of a time bomb. His time was surely up-he couldn't hide the details from Charlotte a moment longer. He was in love with her. She had a right to know what she was getting into. The real trick would be telling her enough so that she could make an informed decision but not enough to frighten her away.

"I'm not a writer. I work in federal law enforcement and I can't tell you much more, for your own safety." Joe cringed at the sound of her laugh.

"Oh, really? As in you'd tell me, but then you'd have to kill me?"

He felt his stomach lurch, thinking, I won't be the one doing the killing. "Not exactly, Charlotte."

As she watched him flip the four pancakes, it dawned on her that he wasn't joking. Joe's shoulders had stiffened and his mouth was pulled tight in seriousness. Charlotte began to feel a bit dizzy. She didn't like this. Not at all.

He placed the golden-brown pancakes on a platter and started four more.

"I'm waiting, Joe."

He turned to her and leaned a hip against the counter. "Do you trust me?"

She'd been asking herself the same thing, and though it was a simple question, it made her head spin. How could she trust a man she didn't really know? Yet how could she be in love with a man she didn't tfust? And how could she tell him she wasn't sure if she trusted him when it was obvious he wouldn't tell her anything unless he had that trust?

"I'm sure trying."

"That's a start."

Charlotte sipped her coffee, studied the grim line of his lips, and thought about the big picture for a minute- the gun, the alarm system, the secrets, the underlying seriousness. It seemed a little far-fetched, like something Matt would conjure up, but she couldn't help herself. "So what are you, Joe? Some kind of secret agent? The Austin Powers of Minton, Ohio?"

His grin lasted a split second. "Not exactly. I work for the U.S. Department of Justice. And I'm in a bit of a bind. I was sent here to disappear, Charlotte." He locked his eyes on hers. "And that needs to stay between you and me."

Her hand fell to the countertop with a thud, sending a plume of coffee into the air and onto her wrist. "Ow! God! You're kidding me! Hold on a second!" As she let the cool faucet water run over her arm, Charlotte tried to collect herself. Joe was some sort of cop? What kind? Why did he have to disappear?